


The Big Man

by BravestPotato



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Sports, real professional sports, sports advice, sports stories, sports tips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BravestPotato/pseuds/BravestPotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the big man has the rock, you know he's gotta drive down through the paint downtown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Man

Dave Strider stood at the ten yard line. The rock was in his hands.  
He knew what he had to do.  
He dribbled the ball between his legs, swerving out of the way of an incoming defender. He scooped the rock up, did a brief pass to himself, and performed a sick body-check on the referee. Now grabbing his bat, he prepared for a headfirst slide into the endzone.  
But 'twas not meant to be, or at least, such was the opinion of the defenders on the line. He was rushed, quite suddenly, from all sides. It seemed a hopeless endeavor to remain with one's limbs largely in the right locations, much less to get the ball out to the quarterback before halftime. But Dave Strider was Home. He had to be here. He knew what his mission was. As each of the troll halfbacks and safeties closed in around his head, he used his signature move- he took up his bat, balancing the ball on his knee, and quickly made a swing for

the hoop. The bat sailed through the air like a fucknig piece of garbage; majestically, full of purpose, and of grace as well. It struck the goalie sitting on top of the basket with a crack that seemed to reverberate throughout Paradox Space, and splatter the cosmos with a spiderweb lace of sports ability that threatened the life of every nerd in any existence ever created, by trolls or otherwise. The goalie's triangular shades were shattered into thousands of shards and fragments, and as each passed through the goal, the touchdown counter added three points for his amazing play from the line of scrimmage. As the goalie's gray, terrible, awful hat drifted through, the scoreboard went dark, before using the last of its energy to shine a glowing, radiant “420,000,000” before exploding, and opening a portal to a new, freer universe, that he would preside over like a paternal goddamn god. And he would gaze upon it through Stiller-darkened shades. And he would see that it was good.

“A wonderful allegory, Dave. But I doubt any situations involving sports are as likely to succeed as you seem to believe, no matter how utterly contrived and nonsensical.”

“shit you asked if i had any ideas. i gave you my idea. how the fuck am i supposed to know how to get to the new session. oh wait thats right. i do know. through my awesome fucking plan that came to me in an awesome fucking dream.”

“Spend more time dreaming, Dave. It may yet prove useful.”

“i cant tell if thats heartwarming in a disney way or heartwarming in a i just got totally burned way. which is it rose”

“Both? Neither? Have you ever known me to make a distinction?”

“hell if i know. talk to you later rose.”

“Goodbye, Dave. Or should I say, King of the Paint?”

“please rose. please do.”

She left, leaving Dave once again alone with the meteor's cold hum. He decided to hunt down someone else to relate the story to, someone who'd react with more than a smug grin the entire time he was telling it. Karkat, he decided, could be counted on to insult the entire premise. He set aside his headphones, and went to fondly regard that crustacean, and also make fun of him a lot.


End file.
